The Inn Matron
by Yami no Ryu
Summary: The Last HeraldMage Trilogy. Vanyel meets a unique woman.


**The Inn Matron**

Vanyel eyed the approaching town, his emotions swinging from gratitude, to impatience, to resignation. Half of him wanted to spur Yfandes into the ground-eating gallop that only Companions could achieve, and half of him only wanted a warm meal and a pallet by the fire. Unfortunately, Yfandes refused to gallop, for "what good will you be to Shavri or Randi if you ride in to Haven ready to faint from exhaustion?" Thus, they were traveling at a speed that left Yfandes tired but not falling-down exhausted, and they were stopping at a nearby inn or tavern every night.

Being recalled from a mission due to Randale's failing health was not what Van would have preferred, but there it was. Randale was dying, and he knew it; he wanted Van by his side, and being King, had the Herald-Mage permanently assigned to Haven. Vanyel couldn't fault him.

It was another candlemark before they rode into town, and stopped in front of the inn. Vanyel dismounted gratefully, stretching his legs and removing his packs, and handed Yfandes off to the groom. _:Sleep well, sweetling:_ he Mindsent.

_:Get some yourself:_ Yfandes scolded. _:You'll be no good to Shavri and Randi if you're too tired to think.:_

_:So you've said:_ Van replied dryly, and Sent his acceptance before entering the inn proper. He blinked, pausing to let his eyes adjust to the bright interior. He surveyed the room: the floors were clean-swept, the tables devoid of odd stains and crumbs or spills, and the fire crackled merrily in a fireplace at the other end of the room. The Herald-Mage nodded in approval.

"Welcome, m'lord Herald," said a matronly voice. Vanyel turned his head to look at the woman standing in undyed cotton tunic and trousers at his side. "Would you be stayin' the night?"

"Yes," Van answered. "And dinner, if it's warm."

"Aye," the woman said. "Pick a seat. I'll be right out with your meal. It's plain fare, but—"

"Better than travel rations, I'd wager," Van interrupted. "I'd prefer 'plain fare' served warm to a king's feast served cold any day."

She chuckled. "Ach, as ye say. I'm Meren, the matron of the inn."

"Pleasure, my lady," Van said courteously.

"Ah, get yourself seated, ye flatterer," Meren muttered, amused, and then disappeared from his side. Van took her advice, and seated himself in a corner by the fire. Not a moment after he'd gotten himself comfortable did Meren reappear, this time holding a tray with a pie, a chunk of bread, and water. "Here ye go, m'lord."

"Thank you." Van's stomach suddenly rumbled as the smell of the pie reached his nose. Meren chuckled again.

"Well, your stomach agrees with ye, for certes." Still with a friendly smile, she asked, as if it had just occurred to her, "I never did catch your name, m'lord Herald."

Van gave a purely internal sigh, but replied, "Vanyel."

As he expected, her eyes widened, and she said softly, "_Herald-Mage_ Vanyel? Called Demonsbane, called Shadow—"

"—Stalker, yes. That Vanyel," he interrupted. He waited for the fawning, the nervous babbling, the fear. To his surprise, after a moment, Meren regained her equilibrium.

"Well, tis not often we get livin' legends to dine," the matron murmured. She stared at him pensively. "Though, truth, I did imagine ye a mite taller."

Vanyel couldn't help it; he laughed. "Thank you."

"Ye get enough fawnin', I imagine; ye don't need it from me," Meren said reasonably. "Enjoy the meal, m'lord Herald."

"I believe I will."

Later that night, when Meren came to collect the empty mug and ceramic pie-pan, Vanyel asked quietly, "Does my power frighten you?"

Meren paused, and then set the pie-pan very deliberately on her tray. "Aye, it does, Herald. To my ken, the power as ye have is dangerous, and should be feared."

"Yet you aren't afraid of me," Van pointed out reasonably.

"You're a Herald," the matron replied just as reasonably. "Aye, more powerful than the others; for certes thinner," at that she shot him a sharp, disapproving look, "but no Herald would misuse his power. An' that magic of yourn do make pretty songs."

Vanyel winced.

Meren's face softened. "Anyone can see you're exhausted. My daughter made up a room for ye; let me get her."

Again, she disappeared, and then there was a girl of about fifteen hurrying over to him, also dressed in tunic and trousers. "M'lord Herald, this way."

She led him up a flight of stairs and down a hall, then stopped at a nondescript door. "Your room, m'lord Herald."

"Thank you," Van said.

"Is it true?" she burst out in an excited whisper. "Are ye really Vanyel?"

"Yes," Van sighed, opening the door to his room.

"Did ye really do all those things those songs said ye did?" the girl asked.

"Yes, I did," Vanyel admitted. "Thank you for showing me to my room."

"It was a pleasure, m'lord Herald-Mage," murmured the girl. "Sleep well, m'lord Herald-Mage. If you need anything—"

"_Thank you_," Van interrupted, a bit more forcefully than he intended, and then shut the door behind him. He leaned his forehead against the cool wood, then threw his packs besides the bed. It was the work of moments to strip out of his Whites. Then he fell into bed.

The last thought he had before he drifted into a fitful sleep was to wonder why not all of the world was like Meren.


End file.
